The Blind (22 page)

Evie patted her hand on the bench, but Smokey Joe continued to stand. “What are you doing up here?” she asked.

“I needed to get away.”

“You chose the roof of the Elliott Tower?”

“I chose a place without a bunch of yapping idiots.” He glared in her direction.

Evie chuckled. “I work with bombs, Smokey. It'll take a lot more than that to singe my eyebrows.”

Smokey reached behind him until he found the bench. “I came up here because this is the closest thing to my mountain.” He sank down as if his tired old legs couldn't hold him anymore. “I can't do it, Evie. I can't go live with a bunch of strangers. Franny may be my cousin, but she's not my family.”

“I know,” Evie said. She'd been with Kate and Smokey Joe five months ago when they'd all been hunting for the killer known as the Broadcaster Butcher. “Kate's your family. So why not move in with her and Hayden? They'd love to have you. Except for the times when you're acting like a stubborn old mule.”

“Can't do that, either. At least not yet. They're still trying to figure out how to live with each other. Beginnings are hard, like with you and your Jack fellow.”

“I'm not sure he's my fellow yet.”

“Oh, he is. He just doesn't realize it.”

“You know this because?”

“I heard it.” Smokey Joe pointed to his ear. “I have more than seven decades in this old skin. I've seen plenty of folks find that special person, and when they do, they change. The things they say and how they say it change. I hear it in your voice.”

And she felt it. The quickening of her heart when Jack walked into a room, the heating of her blood when her skin brushed his. For more than a decade she'd been content with her job, her teammates, her duty to protect and serve, but now she wanted more. She wanted Jack. “You're a cagey old thing, aren't you?”

“How's that?”

“Steering this conversation to me and Jack when we are supposed to be talking about you.”

“There's nothing wrong with me.”

“Says the man sitting on the roof of a thirty-six-story building and hiding from everyone because you don't want to face the truth.”

“What truth?”

She didn't have time for this. “You can't live alone anymore.”

“Don't you tell me what I can and can't do,” Smokey said with a roar that sent a ringing through her ears.

“Do you really want to go this route?”

Smokey crossed his arms over his chest.

“Fine.” She cleared her throat. “You
cannot
live alone. You
cannot
drive a car. And you
cannot
keep distracting people and taking away resources from my bomb investigation.”

“You don't need to yell.” Smokey rubbed the side of his head.

“Good, because I'm only going to say this once.” She pressed the tip of her index finger onto his thigh. “I have one lousy day to catch a serial killer before he straps another woman to a bomb and blows her body to bits, and this time, the woman will have a baby in her arms. A baby. Do you want that to happen?”

Smokey Joe's bushy gray eyebrows met at the bridge of his nose. “Course not.”

“Then why the hell did you take off? We need all the help we can get at this point.”

His gnarled old fingers picked at the armrest of the bench. “That sculptor guy, the blind artist you've been checking out. Did you know he lives alone?”

“No, I didn't.”

“Gets to the studio every day by taking the bus. Has a little grocery store near his apartment that he goes to a few times a week.”

“Mr. Brice has a Seeing Eye dog.”

“I'll get me a dog.”

Her patience was growing thin. The clock was ticking. “He's also half your age and in good physical shape. He hasn't had a recent bout with prostate cancer, nor has he driven a car off the side of a mountain, which, by the way, more than hints at a suspect mental state.”

“Why don't you just throw me off the side of the building?”

“Because that would devastate Kate and Hayden, two people I care about.” Evie took Smokey's hand. “And I care about you. I don't want you living on that mountain alone. Something has to change, and once you get over your little hissy fit, you'll admit it.”

Smokey scratched the stubble along his chin. “One day? You're saying we got one day to catch a killer.”

“One day.”

He hopped up from the bench. “Well, you need to stop your yammering and get back to work.”

“Sounds like a plan.” She tucked her arm through his. “But after we catch him, we're going to talk.”

Smokey grumbled.

Thursday, November 5
7:59 p.m.

J
ack tore off the check for a half million dollars and slipped it into an envelope.

Evie was a grown woman and a highly skilled FBI agent. He jammed his checkbook back in his pocket. She was also a woman who did things at her speed, within her time frame, and her way. He put away the pen and straightened the blotter on his desk. He finally checked the clock on his office wall. Which means he
shouldn't
be worried that she was more than an hour late.

Claire had said Evie had to
run an errand
. Was that a euphemism for defusing a bomb or tracking down a lead on a serial killer? He hopped up from his chair.

Down the hall to the right of the foyer, light spilled from the door of the marketing and public relations offices. He found Freddy Ortiz behind a large computer screen. At a table nearby sat Brady, the jaunty bandage on his forehead still in place, and the owner of The Bean Thing.

Brady said something soft, and the woman laughed.

“Hey, boss,” Brady said when he tore his gaze from the pretty blonde. “I told Freddy he could use our art department's equipment.”

“Of course,” Jack said.

“I want a Christmas bonus. A ham would be nice.” Freddy smacked his lips. “Nah, I want a whole pig.” He pushed back from the computer. “Okay, Miz Margot,
ándale
. I have the photo file loaded, and we're on the big screen. Tell me if this one is any closer to Mr. Americano-Nonfat-Cinnamon.”

Jack watched Brady watch Margot walk across the room. “So what's up with you and the coffee lady?”

“We're going out for a beer when she's done,” Brady said.

“Since when do you go out for beers with pretty blondes on Thursday nights?”

“Since a few bombs convinced me that there's life outside the office.”

For the past week Jack had been out of the office and at Evie's side. No eighty-hour workweek. No business meetings masquerading as meals. The world kept spinning, and he continued to make money.

“For the record,” Brady said, “I kind of like beer on Thursday nights with pretty blondes.”

And Jack liked whiskey with attitudinal brunettes. He checked his phone. Still no word.

“Is everything okay?” Brady asked.

Jack drummed his fingers on the table. “Do you know what she's planning?” She. Evie. “To offer herself in exchange for the woman and child Vandemere has already abducted.”

“There's no way LAPD or the FBI would go for something like that. It would be suicide.”

“In theory, the switch would never take place. It's just a bluff.”

“So what's the problem?”

This was the piece that no one else seemed to get. “Evie doesn't do anything halfway.” With a low growl, Jack left the marketing department offices.

Back in his office, he found Evie sitting on his desk and waving the check for half a million. “You're upping the Angel Bomber reward. Very, very impressive, Jack. Should we hand-deliver to Ricci tonight?”

“He said to drop it off in the morning. He knows I'm good for it.”

Evie crooked a finger at him, and he was a missile locked in on her. He planted himself between her legs. The warmth of the
V
of her thighs surged through him.

“You're a good man, Jack,” she said as she pulled his head toward hers. Her tongue slid along his lips. “A very good man.”

And she was safe. For now. He lost himself in the sweetness of her lips, pressing her body against his. Close. So close he didn't know where he ended and she began.

She put her hands on either side of his face. “I love you, Jack Elliott.”

His lips stilled.

She laughed. “Why do you look so shell-shocked? I'm not shy about letting anyone know my feelings. So let me get everything off my chest.” She slipped off his jacket and tossed it on the floor. “I love your power and strength and success.” She detached his tie tack and loosened his tie. “I love that you use your money for good.” One by one she unbuttoned his shirt buttons. “I love that you hear rain tinkling in falling sand.” His shirt fell open, and she slipped her hands under his T-shirt. “I love eating cake with you.” Her fingers pressed against his heart. “I love the thought of spending the rest of my life with you and having children.”

Jack pressed her hand to his chest. Could she feel the hammering of his heart? The steam raging through his bloodstream? He ran a hand through his hair. Before Evie he had such clarity. Where he wanted to go and how to get there. Now there was this haze. A beautiful, warm, steamy haze.

8:18 p.m.

Freddy shaved off the sideburns, then leaned back in his chair. “What do you think?”

“The face still isn't the right shape,” Margot said. “Make it even narrower.”

“Is he anorexic or something?” Freddy popped a piece of gum in his mouth.

“Could be. He drinks a lot of coffee.” She pressed her lips in a hard line. “The nose is still not right. Make it flatter.”

Freddy reached for the mouse. “Okay, let me dink around with this some more.” Because he wanted to nail this guy. The guy who'd blown up Lisa Franco before his eyes and who now had his sights set on Evie.

He punched up the cheekbones and was taking more flesh off the neck, when his phone rang. “Freddy Ortiz, photographer of the starz.”

“Hello, Freddy.”

The wad of gum dipped and lodged in his throat. He hacked until the gum popped out and landed on the table. He'd talked to Evie about this. He knew what to do when this creep called the tip line. First, he had to stop panicking. Cops were on the call because last week Evie tapped the line. He needed to get Bomber Boy talking so they could make the trace. Sweat rolled down the sides of his face. “You, uh, got Agent Jimenez's message.”

“What does she want?”

“To be in your next exhibit.”

“I already sent the invitation.”

“No, not at,
in
. She wants you to use her in the mother and kid piece.”

“Why would she want to do that?”

“To save the mother and kid.”

“She's just going to show up and say, ‘Here I am. Strap a bomb to me'?”

“Yep. That's what she had in mind.”

Vandemere let loose a long, twittering laugh. “She must think I'm an idiot.”

Freddy nibbled the side of his cheek. He needed a whopper of a story here. “Evie thinks you're a smart guy. Talented, too. She's been studying your work, looking at your canvases, digging through the debris. Called you a master. She's your biggest fan.”

“My biggest fan.” A breathy echo fanned his words.

“Um, yeah, and she knows you. She said you want your work seen, and you'll get a hell of a lot more publicity if you use someone like her.”

“And she's willing to die?”

Freddy gnawed on his lip. “Now this is where the story gets really good. She said like you, she's a master at what she does. She knows your work and can get out.”

“This is some kind of trap, isn't it?”

“She said she's willing to give you some assurance.”

“Assurance?”

Freddy told him about the crazy plan Evie and the boys in blue hatched. No sane person would believe it. No sane person would walk into it. When he finished, there was silence. Had Vandemere run like the wind?

“Uh, you still there, Vandemere?”

“Yes. I'm here.”

“So, are you in?”

More silence. “Hell, yes.”

8:31 p.m.

Evie took the hair band from her wrist, tied it around a wad of curls atop her head, and ran from Jack's office, her phone to her ear and Jack on her heels. While she and Jack had been making love on his desk, Vandemere had called Freddy and agreed to the switch.

“Did you guys get a fix on the phone?” Evie asked Ricci, who was on the other end of the line.

“Pay phone in Glendale,” Ricci said. “Got a few sets of eyes searching down there now, but nothing yet.”

“So where and when are we meeting Vandemere?”

“Freddy couldn't pin him down. Vandemere said he'd call tomorrow with details.”

“No surprise there. Holding off on that information would make it presumably harder to set a trap.”

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Evie ended the phone call with Ricci and hopped on. Time to get to LAPD and set the trap. She pushed the Lower Level button, while Jack stood in the foyer, frowning.

“Hey,” she said with a wink. “I thought sex tonight was pretty damned great.”

Jack didn't smile. Nor did he get on the elevator. “Don't do it.”

It would be so easy to let the doors close, to end this all-too-familiar conversation before it got started. A clock was ticking. She jammed her finger on the Open button. “This is my job, Jack. This is what I do. This is who I am.”

“Please, Evie.” Soft words. Soft blue eyes. “Please don't even pretend to offer yourself to this guy. There's always another way to broker a deal.”

No commands. No demands.
Please
. She scrubbed at the side of her head. He was so much easier to ignore when he was a control freak. “Jack—”

“I love you.” Jack didn't move, as if stunned by his own words.

Her heart swelled and threatened to leap from her chest.
This
. This is what she wanted, what she needed. But shitty timing. “Look me in the eye, Jack, and listen because I don't have a lot of time, and I'm only going to say this once. We're not making any deals with Vandemere. It's just a bluff.” She held out her hand. “So come here, Mr. CEO and Chairman. You have me in your arms. I promise you, I'm not going to slip away.”

9:29 p.m.

Jack had never seen an assassin. The ponytail surprised him.

Evie grabbed the man's hand and pulled him to her in a one-armed hug. “Hey, Brooks. What the hell took you so long?”

Brooks, Parker Lord's sharpshooter, hugged Evie, then aimed his chin at a tall man with shaggy blond hair. “Hatch took a detour.”

Hatch lifted his shoulders in a what-can-I say shrug. “I wanted to see the ocean.”

Laughter rumbled through the conference room, the loudest from Evie. These men were her teammates, the best of the best. Like Evie. Jack kept reminding himself of Parker's words
. If it were anyone I cared about strapped to one of those bombs, I'd want Evie working the scene.

The best were in the room. In addition to Evie's teammates, there was Ricci's bomb squad and an LAPD SWAT team.

The tall blond man held out his hand. “Hatch Hatcher.”

Jack shook. “Jack Elliott.”

“I know.” Agent Hatcher leaned forward and added in a loud whisper, “How was the cake?”

“Hatch!” Evie popped her teammate on the back of the head.

Agent Hatcher clapped Jack on the shoulders with both hands, then took a seat at the table.

Evie's other teammate wasn't as friendly. Brooks, the assassin, stared at him with the cold, black eyes of a man who knew how to kill. And Evie thought
he
was protective of her? Jack ran a hand through his hair. Meeting her brothers and father should be interesting.

Jack stood in the background as plans were made, and to Evie's credit, never at any time did they discuss an actual switch. On paper this was strictly a ruse to get Carter Vandemere out in the open.

Midway through the discussion on road closures, Brady skidded into the room, huffing and puffing. Right behind him was Freddy Ortiz, covered in sweat. Freddy held up a flash drive. “Got him. Got a face and a name on the bomber.”